


Cursum Perficio

by blackidyll



Series: Sic Parvis Magna [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Magic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 08:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16761814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackidyll/pseuds/blackidyll
Summary: Q tilts his head, his eyes locking with James's, but obliquely. "How was Venice?"If Venice was a formal mission, Q wouldn't need to ask; he'd find out in hints and pieces what happened when James returns his mission kit, or by reading the report scrolls directly, which Q now has the clearances for. If Venice was a typical vacation destination, Q would already know the answer, because James only travels for pleasure with company, and that company would now be Q himself.But Q has read James's file, knows as much of James's history as is allowed to be recorded, and he has heard Vesper's name from James himself. He might not know all the details, but he knows the significance of Venice.(A Harry Potter!AU that follows the canon events of the HP books, but with no formal appearances of the HP cast).





	Cursum Perficio

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be my contribution to [MI6 Cafe](https://mi6-cafe.tumblr.com/)'s Occult October challenge (HAHAHA), but as usual RL (curse you, work and deadlines and my lousy immune system) came and derailed everything. Still, it was cathartic to write this fic – the idea has been in my head for a long time, and the occult theme gave me the push I needed to write it :'D 
> 
> This one is set a year or two after Q's official induction into the Unspeakables, which takes place in [_Sapere Aude_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15510402).

It never fails to surprise many magic casters just how much the Muggles are capable of perceiving, that instinct and empathy are capable of trumping even the most precisely casted charm.

There are whispers about why the collapsed building along the Grand Canal has been abandoned, left hollowed out but standing instead of torn down and rebuilt. Some say the ruins serve as warning. Some say it's a morbid shrine, a memorial to those who died when the building came down. Others say the waters beneath and around the structure are haunted, that anyone who ventures too close are turned away by the spirits that linger.

James was assigned to the jurisdiction of Muggle Britain long before he became an Indeterminate, and he knows better. He knows just how intuitive Muggles can be, and in this case, the rumours are all true.

It takes a delicate minute of spellcasting to modify the spells without taking the whole system down or setting the secondary alarm spells off. The wards spark a warning when James finally steps through a gap in the plastic sheeting. There are bare walkways left intact, uneven and treacherous under James's feet, and although sunlight cuts through the gaps in the ceiling, highlighting an entire swath of Venetian water a deep turquoise, the rest of the decimated building is thrown in shadow, a dimness no amount of sunshine or the _lumos_ charm can chase away. 

"Hello, James."

The woman who steps out from behind a shattered pillar is pristinely put together, her hair sleek where it's pulled back from her face but cascading free down her back. Her cloak is wrapped around her like armour, her smile enigmatic.

If it isn't for the way her form flickers in the dim light, translucent like a mirage or an illusion, Vesper would be the very image of the first time James met her.

"Hello, Vesper."

James's quiet voice echoes through the ruins in a way hers doesn't, and Vesper tilts her head, as if listening to a bell or a pleasing tune.

"I seem to remember telling you not to come back here," Vesper says. She begins walking towards him, her steps not leaving a single ripple on the puddles of water covering the broken walkway. "It's enough that one of us has to inhabit this place, and I rather think I've earned sole haunting rights."

"You have." James breathes in deeply; the air here is cool and humid, heavy in his lungs. "And for you, I put quite a bit of effort into the deterrent charms surrounding this building."

Vesper's mouth slides into a pleased little smile. "I'm glad you agree," she says, a teasing lilt in her voice. "And although deception is a given in your line of work, you have no reason to lie to a defenceless wraith, which means—"

It says something, that the two of them can now quip about her death; the first time James had seen Vesper after, when he realized that she'd remained in this world as a ghost, he'd almost brought down the rest of the building around them, his magic wild and out of control. 

The next half-dozen visits had barely been any better; in the years immediately after Vesper's death, James had only allowed himself to remember her when he was feeling particularly self-destructive.

Then the Second Wizarding War broke out, and then there was no time for self-recriminations. When James finally came to her after Voldemort's defeat, he'd been more grounded, more certain and a little wiser, while Vesper was her usual self, unchanging in death: sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued and sharply intelligent. 

She had given him the ultimatum then: he is to stay away, and he's only allowed to break that order when—

"—you've found someone at last," Vesper says.

James meets her gaze; Vesper had come to a stop right where a beam of sunlight cuts across the walkway, standing on the dark side where her lack of a shadow would go unnoticed. Unlike other ghosts, Vesper prefers to act as if she's tangible, as close a facsimile to life as possible. She doesn't float or vanish or pass through walls, and she chooses to expend the energy necessary to appear the way she wants to be remembered – professional, beautiful and in control, a high-ranked representative from the Treasury of the Ministry of Magic, able to put an presumptuous Indeterminate in his place with a few cutting words.

She's standing in front of James, just a few meters away, and James misses her like the burn of a precisely casted curse, left to fester.

"You're hardly defenceless," James says. "Not even now."

The look Vesper shoots him is cynically amused. "Perhaps, but I'm not intimidating either. Not when I can't affect the world, through touch nor magic. I'm not a poltergeist, after all." She sweeps her hand through the air, fingers spread, as if she could catch the wind that way. "What is she like?"

James blinks at her, a little pause of consideration.

"Ah," Vesper says, that single syllable somehow encompassing a wealth of sentiments within it. "Perhaps I should have said _he_ instead. Or _they_?"

James's mouth quirks, and he lets the lopsided smile grow, since it's pointless to keep hide anything from Vesper; not here, not like this. "He."

She laughs then, quiet and pleased, and it's such a exquisite sound that James wonders if there is some way of saving it, to keep a piece of it for himself.

Q could likely do it, in ways that don't involve silvery memories forced into bottles and a Pensive, flayed open for anyone to see. As ruthlessly logical and systematic as Q is, there's always something artistic and beautiful and soulful about his creations, whether they be perfectly balanced charms or shimmery spell maps. Vesper's laughter is a rare and treasured thing, and Q would preserve it with the grace and delicacy it deserves.

"What is he like, then? You're being very tight-lipped about him," Vesper notes, her lips still curved with the remnants of her pleasure.

"I thought you would enjoy puzzling out what he's like." James offers her his most charming smile, the one he knows that used to rile her up like nothing else.

Vesper's smile goes sharper, although she's careful to keep her teeth from showing – the perfect Ministry representative, her fangs hidden behind a veneer of infinite cool. "Quite a challenge, without him here. But all right."

She takes a moment to adjust her cloak, and then folds her hands neatly together, a single silver ring gleaming on her right hand. When she turns her attention back on James, he knows she's already made her assessment.

"He must be strong-willed, to deal with your obstinacy and ego," is Vesper's opening salvo. "And because you get bored so very easily, he's smart and quick-witted and cunning, and thinks just differently enough from you that you'll always discover something new with him." She sweeps her eyes down James's form – Mugglewear in magical fabrics, his wand ever near his hand, barely discernible to the unpractised eye – and then back up. "You'd never fall for a normal civilian, so odds are good that he's associated with your line of work. And I've never seen you dressed in Muggle wear when you come here, not even after your war. It's likely his influence, so he's either a half-blood like me, or Muggleborn."

She studies James carefully, and the smile she gives him next is complicated, with an odd twist to it. "He's very private, isn't he? I know how you love your secrets, but this time, you're keeping quiet for him. Even though you've come here to tell me about him." Her eyes flick away. "You understand him, and you would be a fool to stay with him if it wasn't mutual. And to understand someone like you—" her voice drops, goes quiet and serious. "—he must be damaged."

James chuckles. "After the War, who isn't at least a little damaged?"

Vesper tilts her head to the side, an elegant shrug. "I wouldn't know. But there's a difference between small chips and fractures, and something that has been cracked all the way through."

James gives her a shrug of his own, because they're both very familiar with the latter kind of damage, and they're both fully aware that _damaged_ doesn't necessarily mean _broken_.

There is also this: things have a way of not staying broken for very long around Q. James should know; he's shattered plenty of Q's artefacts and even some of his spell sequences, and although Q mutters darkly about _bloody overpowerful Indeterminates_ , he takes the information and comes back with ever better and more efficient creations.

"Strong-willed and intelligent, private and world-weary," Vesper muses. "Is he an orphan like us?"

"Would you think less of me if I say I don't know? He really is quite private." James pauses, and because it's Vesper, admits, "I don't think he is. I believe he's chosen to stay permanently away, for their safety."

"A willing exile." There's the softest hint of a sigh in Vesper's voice. "But alone, all the same."

"No." The force at which that single word comes out surprises Vesper; it surprises James as well, how automatic that denial was. "No," James continues, more calmly this time. "He has a circle of loyal friends who would follow him unto hell itself."

"And he must be something indeed, to inspire such loyalty." Vesper tips her chin upwards. "I like him," she declares.

The smile that escapes James is entirely involuntary. "You don't know him."

"I know enough. The world is a high-stakes game and the people in it the playing pieces in your hand, but he matters, and more importantly, you admit he matters. Anyone who is capable of slipping behind that armour of yours deserves my praise."

It's an echo of a conversation they've had before, tucked between well-mussed sheets, James's fingers stroking reverently over smooth skin and Vesper's dark hair spilling over his chest and shoulder like indelible ink.

"You were the first," James can't help telling her.

Vesper inclines her head in silent acknowledgment; she has always known. "He and I would have gotten along, then. Shared secrets and stories about you."

"You probably would. He knows about you."

Vesper's eyelashes sweep down, once, twice. "Does he? In an abstract, _my lover's former lover is dead_ , or in a specific, _my lover's former lover worked for the Treasury of the Ministry of Magic and killed herself after betraying both him and the Ministry_?"

Her tone barely wavers over the last bit, factual down to the core, but her gaze skitters away at the last moment, sweeping over sundrenched water and damp stone, seeking the dark shadows.

"The latter."

Her eyes dart back towards him, startled enough to forget herself. "You didn't tell him."

"No," James agrees, because even after all this time, Vesper still knows him very well. "My file in the Unspeakables archive may be sealed and censored to within an inch of its life, but he has a way with spells. He specializes in crafting them, and in taking them apart."

"And you found out that he knew because—"

"He told me. Trust is an important part of any relationship, he said."

Vesper's smile has a complicated curve to it. "And he proved that by deliberately breaking the secrecy spells on your file, and reading it."

"To him, knowledge holds the greatest power," James says. "And in our line of work, trust is relative."

He hadn't meant his words as a rebuke of any kind, but Vesper goes still. Silence settles between them like a raven settling its feathers, watchful and waiting.

"Why are you here?" Vesper finally says, and James knows she's not asking for the obvious answer.

Vesper had absolved James in her last living moments, and in death had talked, lectured and argued him down from the ledge more than once. James knows why she sent him away with that ultimatum not to return, the last time he came here. It's in his blood, to flirt with danger, and Vesper – together with the ruin and his volatile emotions around her – is like a siren call constantly luring him to drown himself once and for all. It's also in his blood, to be as stubborn as the earth they walk on and as proud as the rising full moon, and so Vesper had given him the exception; knew that he would always break the rules if the terms were too rigid, too restrictive, but would stick to his word if given the chance to fulfil the terms properly.

 _Stop mourning me_ , he knows she meant, _just stop_ , and James had wanted to give that to her, to give them both a chance to move on. It's presumptuous to assume that his happiness – or lack thereof – is what keeps her on this plane as a ghost, but there's a part of James that never moved on from that agent newly promoted to the Indeterminate ranks, cocky and reckless after facing down dozens of Dementors and surviving it.

Vesper had been determined to die and so dead she stayed, but James wonders sometimes, in terrible moments, if his resolve to revive her through Muggle CPR and healing spells alike had trapped her instead, teetered her spirit in their world long enough that she couldn't cross fully over.

She would hex him, if she ever finds out and if she is still capable of magic. _You're arrogant, James_ , she would say, eyes narrowed. _Allow me the agency and consequences of my own actions._

So James holds a futile hand out to her now, and says, "Because you are important to me, and I wanted you to know." He chuckles, soft and low. "You would have liked to know, if you lived and we broke up and I found someone new; I don't see why I would act differently just because you're dead."

Vesper's eyes fall shut for a very brief second, and then she lifts her hand in turn, fingertips breaching that line of shadows into brightness—

She vanishes, and James whirls around, battle-honed instincts tripping immediately into place, his wand already in hand. He visually clears the space in one quick sweep, casts a detection charm swiftly after, and goes stock still when the spell responds with calm and clear notes, an auditory all-clear.

It's not in James's nature to hesitate but he takes a moment, enough to draw a breath, before he turns.

Vesper coalesces into existence, sunlight shimmering through her form, just a bare arms length and a entire world away. Her hair is drenched, sticking to her skin, and the robes she wears now are waterlogged, torn from how James had pulled her from the water, from the way he'd tried to resuscitate her after all his healing spells failed.

James is a caster with an abundance of magic; when wit and cunning and luck fail him, he falls back on raw power and sheer bloody will to survive. Vesper was the opposite – her prowess lay in her precision and efficiency, in doing the utmost with very little magic, and it is that careful control that must allow her to manifest now, to make just the very tips of her fingers tangible enough press against James's cheek, warm and present.

The ghostly imprint of the silver loveknot ring that had earlier graced her right hand, like its real world counterpart, is gone.

"Be well, James," Vesper whispers, and flickers out of sight.

It's pointless to look for her, and so James stands there for long minutes, with only the ever-present susurration of water for company. When he finally moves, it's to tuck his wand back into ready position, hidden beneath the sleeve of his Muggle-styled suit.

The ruin, when James glances around it, feels unchanging, timeless. He's not sure if that's a flaw in his perception or a consequence of the magical barrier warding the place, but James, with his reckless streak and taste for adrenaline, doesn't belong here.

When James strides towards the doorway and the plastic sheeting beyond it, he isn't surprised at all to hear Vesper's voice, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"Don't come back unless you bring him with you."

James doesn't turn around; simply dips his head in acquiescence to the new ultimatum. "As you wish."

\---

Headquarters is quiet when James checks in, but the warehouse space Q claims as his own in Muggle London is chaotically noisy when James Apparates in. The wards barely flicker, recognizing his magical signature, but _Omicron_ glances up immediately.

James flicks him a minute nod of acknowledgment; of Q's recently established Unspeakables research team, _Omicron_ is the most mild-mannered, steadfast and calm. James had also been the one to bring in a healer for the ingenious – and hence luckless – intruder who'd managed to pass through both Q and Riley's protective spell networks to breach the inner workshop; it's so much harder to interrogate someone when they're bleeding from hundreds of razor-thin cuts, the intruder's magic so chained down with defensive curses that he was practically comatose.

Anyone who thinks Hufflepuffs are boring has never encountered a honey badger guarding its den.

 _Omicron_ gives him a friendly enough smile, and then his gaze flicks over James's shoulder—

"Oh, it's you," says an utterly unimpressed voice from behind him, and James is already grinning when he tilts his head to meet _Corvus_ 's stare. She glares fearlessly up at him, chin tipped back, and _Lepus_ hovers at her shoulder, twirling his wand around his fingers, electricity sparking from the wandtip with each revolution.

Of the underclassmen Q took with him when he left Hogwarts, these two are the fiercest. They were with him in Slytherin house, after all, had been granted the freedom to thrive under Q's protection, and they won't back down unless they're forced to.

And they're forced to, when _Ursa_ shoves _Lepus_ out of the way with the point of his shoulder, his arms full of metallic parts and fine wood – goodness knows what weapons they're crafting this time. "You two remember that we work for the Unspeakables now, right? Including him?" _Ursa_ catches James's eyes, and tips his head towards the back of the workshop. " _Koppa_ 's in the vault."

 _Lepus_ , quite unlike his code name, lets out a low growl. James suspects something extra in the Wizarding half of his bloodline, but unless someone lets it slip by accident, he won't ever know for sure. Q fought long and hard for the anonymity of the younger three of his team; the proposal he made to the Magistratus must have been convincing, because here they all are, folded into the Unspeakables ranks after years of hiding out in Muggle London.

 _Omicron_ , who'd graduated from Hogwarts and had a steady job long before he'd been roped in by Riley to help three underaged and one barely of-age runaways disappear from the world, had applied to the Unspeakables on his own. 

"A tinkering day?" James says.

"No," _Omicron_ answers, finally getting up to herd _Corvus_ away _; Ursa_ has already dragged _Lepus_ off. "You can enter the vault without worrying about magically frying _Koppa_ 's electronics."

"And you wouldn't want that, of course," James says, turning for the vault. 

"You should want that too," _Corvus_ snaps. "You're so infuriating."

" _Corvus_ ," _Omicron_ says.

"He's not even supposed to be here! I checked the rosters, he's off-duty, and the international waypoints have records showing him leaving the UK but not coming back."

" _Corvus_ ," _Omicron_ repeats, only sounding slightly exasperated this time. "We already have a big enough rivalry with the Aurors, so let's not antagonize them by interfering in their areas of jurisdiction. Besides, whether _Septem_ is supposed to be here or not, _Koppa_ welcomes him, so."

 _Corvus_ murmurs the incantation of a hex under her breath, but doesn't actually cast it. She glares at James, and across the workshop, _Lepus_ glares as well – but that's all they do.

It's not particularly sane to be so amused by the murderous intent those two seem to hold in abundance for James, but their protectiveness speaks of their fondness and loyalty to Q, and James can find no fault with that. As he strides towards the frosted glass doors separating the workshop proper from the vault, James lets a hint of danger slip through the winsome smile he can put on and pull off like a mask; allegiance like theirs can't be bought, and for it they deserve a glimpse of James's true self.

After all, James finds himself prepared to commit a rather lot of dubiously legal acts as well, when it comes to ensuring Q's safety.

The vault, so named for its layers of protective glass and stone walls, is lit up by the soft glow of a dozen lanterns. At the back of the room, the Faraday cage is locked tight, the faintest subsonic hum telling James that a chain lighting spell is active and working, magic powering Muggle physics to protect Q's electronic equipment within from said magic in the sort of logical contradiction that marks Q's most breathtaking creations.

At the central table, Q looks up. The fingers of his left hand are curved above the pages of the opened tome like he's holding them above a keyboard; his right hand hovers in the space between his wand and a still steaming cup of tea.

"James," Q says instinctively, and then he blinks like he's pulling himself from a trance. His eyes flick immediately to the hourglass sitting at the end of his table instead of his wrist; for all that he flits constantly back and forth between the Muggle world and the magical one, Q never confuses which he's currently working with. "Welcome back."

"Q," James responds, and unclasps the pin from his collar. His Muggle style suit flickers back into typical Indeterminate travel gear the moment the pin comes loose, a cloak shimmering back into existence around the metal in his hands, and he crosses the room to drape the garment around Q’s shoulders.

Q's hands come up automatically to hold the cloak in place. "One day, I’m going to devise the perfect spell trap to stop you from stealing our prototypes.” His fingers sweep down the length of the cloak in a tactile check. “I'm surprised it came back in one piece. How was the chameleon cloak?”

"Effective," James says. "You'd be pleased to know that the charms can differentiate between Italian and Britisth-style suits, and switched accordingly when I stepped out from the international Apparation station in Venice. And the cloak kept its protective properties even with the transformations."

Q's eyes darken, but his gaze doesn't waver. " _Rho_ will be pleased to hear that."

"And you'll be pleased to finally put something with Riley's name on it into the inventories. With how much he contributes to your research here, he's practically a consultant."

Where Q specializes in spellcraft, Riley specializes in materials. His official papers declare him a Potions master as well as an accredited Herbologist, but Q names Riley as the developer of the chameleon cloak's impervious fabric, and James knows for a fact that Riley was – and still is – Q's supplier for rare magical components.

"Riley deserves the credit," Q says. "I just wish he'd take it."

"If he cared about formal acknowledgment, the Unspeakables is the wrong place for it," James points out, and doesn't point out that Riley likely keeps himself well and away from the Unspeakables' clutches for a single, very good reason. A tactician knows not to put all their potion ingredients in one cauldron, so to speak. Just to be cautious. Just in case Q or any of his team need yet another exit strategy. "As it is, I doubt his family would let him disappear into the Ministry's clutches."

"You noble pureblood families and your traditions." Q's smile is half-amused and half-exasperated. Then he tilts his head, his eyes locking with James's, but obliquely. "How was Venice?"

If Venice was a formal mission, Q wouldn't need to ask; he'd find out in hints and pieces what happened when James returns his mission kit, or by reading the report scrolls directly, which Q now has the clearances for. If Venice was a typical vacation destination, Q would already know the answer, because James only travels for pleasure with company, and that company would now be Q himself.

But Q has read James's file, knows as much of James's history as is allowed to be recorded, and he has heard Vesper's name from James himself. He might not know all the details, but he knows the significance of Venice.

"Venice was conclusive," James says.

He takes two steps to lean against the table, the corner of his lips quirking upwards when Q swivels on the stool to keep eye contact. The chameleon cloak flares out behind Q, shifting without the pin and chain to hold it in place – as long as it remains unclasped, the cloak won't activate its transformative magic – and James reaches out to settle it back into place, running his fingers lightly over the curve of Q's shoulders to smooth the fabric out.

Q tilts subconsciously into the touch; even when James draws his hands away, they're leaned close enough that James can sense the living warmth of his presence. "Is conclusion in this case good?"

"It's a change," James says, and Q dips his head in silent understanding. Some things – weapons, circumstances, magic – are neither inherently good or bad; they simply are.

Speaking of things that are—

"Would you like to come with me next time?"

Q's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "On a personal trip?"

"To meet Vesper," James clarifies.

There's a delightful moment where Q's voice catches in his throat, a sound reminiscent of the first time James kissed him, and then he wrestles control of his voice. “I thought you said Venice was conclusive.”

“I did, and it was,” James says. “Vesper told me not to go back unless I bring you with me. So I’m giving that choice to you. If you’d like to meet her one day, she has given her assent. And if you don’t – then Venice stays conclusive.”

Silences with Q are never simply silences. There’s often the background hum of magic or electricity, but even when those ambient sounds are absent, there’s a charged quality to any room Q occupies. He treasures the quiet too much to fill it with needless chatter, and when he focuses – on his laptop, on his magic, on a person – it’s with an intensity that’s almost tangible.

He stares up at James now, angled forward on his stool in concentration, and James obliges him, lets him study his fill.

Common society believes it beyond the pale to want a current lover to meet a former one, especially when the latter is _dead_ , but James isn’t being unconventional simply for its own sake. He could debate his way through it if he wants to. If she’s willing, Vesper deserves more than just James’s years-odd company; time is not just meaningless for her – James imagines the empty stretches must be unconscionable. Q, on the other hand, has the insatiable curiosity of a cat and the unwavering focus of a hunting owl. The fact that Vesper is a spirit makes her interesting; that she has history with James – when Q amasses knowledge and information and fact like they are tangible power in his hand – makes her a rarity. 

But more than all those reasons – there is a part of James that will always be lost under Venetian waters, drowning with Vesper. That piece may be miniscule now, but it will forever be there, and although that part of James’s history is unchangeable, unfixable—

Q does have a way with taking parts and pieces and transforming them into something else.

“You mean it,” Q says. It’s not a question.

James smiles. “I do.”

Q is quiet for a moment longer, and then he sits back, tucking the cloak tighter around his frame. “Then – I’ll think about it.”

“All right.”

They lapse into a more comfortable silence this time. Q curls into the confines of the cloak, his expression thoughtful, so James takes the opportunity to skim the tome Q has been reading. The text is near incomprehensible in its complexity – something about void spaces and reversed ley lines and negations of power – and then Q makes a quiet sound of amusement.

James arcs a look in his direction.

“It’s nothing.” Q waves a hand in James’s direction and then picks up his cup of tea, playing with the handle, and for all that James admires Q’s sharp concentration and brilliance he enjoys this too: Q at ease enough to forget himself, to fidget and fiddle. “You’re aware _Corvus_ has wanted to hex you since the team realized you and I are together.”

“She’s been itching to hex me since I started leaving gifts in place of the prototypes I borrow.”

“’Borrow,’” Q says in a fair echo of James’s intonation of the word. “That’s one word for it. Well, she and _Lepus_ might graduate to actual murder if they ever find out you offered to let me meet your former lover.”

James considers the thought. “You’re not wrong. It’s a good thing Indeterminates are very good at defying murder attempts.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t court death outside of your missions.”

James’s grin has a distinctly devious slant to it – gallows humour might be the field agents’ go-to coping mechanism, but Q, who grew up at ground zero of the Second Wizarding War, is certainly proficient at it. “So says the man who put his name on the death registry to escape to Muggle London. What should have been a terrible loss to the wizarding world ended up being very fortuitous for us, however.”

“’Us?’”

“The Unspeakables,” James says. “The Indeterminates and agents that you work with. Your research team, who flourishes under your direction—”

He reaches out then and touches Q’s hair, lightly brushing his fingers through the unruly curls – by tacit agreement he and Q rarely touch while at headquarters or in Q’s workshop spaces, but this movement is discreet enough to skirt the line and overt enough to convey the unspoken message: _and me, as well_.

Q turns into the touch, his eyes dipping shut like a cat’s, his free hand alighting on James’s knee to keep his balance. A moment later, his eyes blink open under his glasses, and then he laughs, soft but pure.

Q’s laughter is no less exquisite than Vesper’s, but James doesn’t feel that undeniably urge to bottle it away, to preserve it in some form. There are no guarantees in life, especially in their line of work, but these are the facts: James trusts Q with a fervour that borders on reckless, as a man who hides an abundance of secrets and as the Unspeakables's resident spellweaver, but most of all, he trusts Q for two things.

To always find a way, no matter the complication, and to always survive.

And if James has anything to do with it, Q will be around to laugh and banter and break the laws of physics and magical theory alike for a long time to come.

Q smiles up at him, lantern light flickering in his hair and along the curve of his jaw, the scent of Earl Grey permeating the air. “I suppose we’re both lucky, then.”

James smiles back. “I suppose we are.”

**Author's Note:**

> \- I have always loved Vesper, but the fact that she's dead (and that I'm a 00Q fan) means that it's hard to get a chance to write her in canon-based fics. But look! Ghosts exist in the HP world, I have a HP-verse series, so here's my chance to finally write about Vesper and Bond while still having my OTP together. 
> 
> \- Who _doesn't_ think Bond has a guilt complex a mile wide regarding important people who die for and because of him? *crickets chirp* Yeah, I thought so. Actually, Bond here is far better adjusted than he is in canon, whereas this verse's Q is far scrappier and damaged compared to how I headcanon him in canon. Bond's attitude and personality makes him very well suited for fighting a war and he comes out of it almost exactly the same, whereas civilians – especially those at ground zero in Hogwarts – would be adversely affected by Voldemort's return and the social-political climate of the War. 
> 
> But Vesper's death – and what it does to Bond – still happens in this verse, and here you have Q, who faked his death and ran away from Hogwarts and built his own network in London Muggle, and has, from a young age, always fought to survive, no matter what he's gone through. More than anything else, that survival instinct is what first attracts Bond to Q in this verse. (I'm still salty about the missed opportunity that is the first draft Spectre script, because that sets up the "Q does whatever it takes to survive _and_ protect his agents" scenario so beautiful, so I guess I'm just going to write ten thousand variations on this theme in fanfic instead). 
> 
> \- _"The world is a high-stakes game and the people in it the playing pieces in your hand, but he matters, and more importantly, you admit he matters." It's an echo of a conversation they've had before, tucked between well-mussed sheets..._ <\- this references a missing scene from the _Casino Royale_ script. I can't for the life of me find the post of it again, but after they sleep together, Bond says that "It's been a while." Vesper laughs at him, because really James, but then Bond clarifies that "It's been a while since it _mattered_." This brief but poignant conversation really hits me in the Vesper/Bond shipper heart. Eon Productions needs to stop cutting all the amazing content from their scripts :| 
> 
> \- Q's Unspeakables research team is based on the Q Branch OCs I often write into my other Bond fics. Riley/ _Rho_ is, of course, Q's second, and _Omicron_ is Omen (senior Communications officer). Like Q's _Koppa_ , their code names are based on Greek letters. _Corvus_ (meaning crow) and _Lepus_ (meaning hare) are Corrine and Liam (Communications team leads); _Ursa_ (meaning bear) is Ricco (from Weapons and Engineering). Q and his team leave Hogwarts with Riley and Omen's help after Dumbledore's death, and all of them adopt code names to keep each other's identities safe. This is why even though Q officially uses the moniker "Q" with the Unspeakables, his team still calls him _Koppa_.
> 
> \- I have so many thoughts and headcanons about this verse that I can't shut up in these notes. Help me :| 
> 
> \- _cursum perficio_ : my journey is completed/I accomplished my course


End file.
